The Stalemate Incident
by ChaosD-X
Summary: It's hard to tell winners and losers apart when the cold war exhausts itself. [One-shot, impld s-ai]


_Disclaimer: I don't own Saiyuki bishounen, but I'd gladly give a shelter to a couple..._

A/N: This fic is a part of "38 Incidents Project", still my sanity prevents from categorizing things I write as "Romance". That must be reviewer's karma catching up with me. 

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**±=The Stalemate Incident=±**

_(by ChaosDaughter)_

Sanzo knew that it was ridiculous to think of controlling the man and, in few moments of insomnia, that maybe it was stubborn to try to overpower him in the first place, but after several turns revenge sucked them in and none bothered with the start anymore.  
  
***  
"Stop hitting on every girl you see like a maniac!"  
"You're a maniac of a monk! Even if you don't preach, it -"  
"Now, now, Gojyo, he obviously means best for us all, even if he is acting like a jealous wife."  
And Gojyo's laughter prevented him from hearing Sanzo's low: "These are only times when I substitute you."  
Noticing a wince, Sanzo ticked off a point in his mind, even if it was more like a scratch on his heart - whatever.  
  
***  
He was aware that physical opposition would destroy any and both and all; the seventh or maybe the eighth sense warned him that mind games could have already destroyed them, and there's no telling who was bleeding more, and there couldn't be an end but a stop.   
  
***  
"How much longer are we going to continue?"  
"…Why, all of sudden?"  
"It has stopped amusing me."  
Sanzo cast a sideways glance. But his irritation was already diluted with weariness, so he interrupted his own acid remark.  
"Hn. Let tomorrow be the last day, then it's over."  
"Agreed," was answered calmly.   
  
***  
As the day's first cigarette butt flew out of the window, Sanzo smirked, almost in desperation. 'I'll teach him not to be _amused_ with me.'  
  
He waited for a perfect moment, checking every step, careful not to feed suspicions. He relaxed a little just once, seeing a group of unfortunate 'die-or-hand-over-the-sutra-and-die' freelancers. Even in the worst moments of righteous fury, he never ever entertained the thought of tripping the other in a battle and knew that the tacit peace treaty was working both ways.  
  
Despite the caution, the day flowed by, unnaturally silent.  
  
***  
"Hakkai, is coffee ready?"  
Sanzo stood near his chair, a bit of impatience seeping through.  
"Yes," Hakkai strolled over to the table and placed a couple of mugs on it. Even in the worst moments of mutual discontentment, they never ever spoiled each other's first or last day's coffee. Sanzo waved away the stray thought. 'That's not so important.'  
He reached out to Hakkai and gently tugged at his left sleeve.  
"Ah?" he said and turned to face him.  
A big mistake. Sanzo could hear the footsteps.  
With the other hand, Sanzo grabbed Hakkai's shirt at the chest and yanked him closer and a bit downwards, at the same time leaning to capture the latter's lips with his own. His peripheral vision satisfiedly registered Gojyo choking on his cigarette and halting at the door. Then turning and leaving at twice a speed. As expected.  
  
What didn't enter the calculation however, were Hakkai's arms locking his body in an embrace, Hakkai's tongue touching his lips and that his own mouth would open - an instinct, wasn't it? And then blood was so loud in his ears he almost missed another set of rattling footsteps. Hastily coming to a stop, then dashing away. He never recoiled, basking in the liquid heat born everywhere their bodies touched while he could; hands just clenched the green material tighter.  
The kiss ended softly. But neither, apparently, trusted to release the hold yet. Their left cheeks were touching, and Sanzo tried to gather his thoughts enough to take some vantage action - of no avail; there was a cosy emptiness, except for solitary, strangely detached: 'That's a mess.'  
Somewhere, a clock struck midnight.  
Both waited. Neither moved. A quiet chuckle, merely a rush of warm air if it hadn't been so close to his ear, didn't break the shell of silence. Even the quiet words did not.  
"If I promise to hold you, will you let go of my shirt?"  
Sanzo involuntary looked down on his hands and slid them, a film of sweat drying, to settle more comfortably on Hakkai's waist.  
"I'll take you at word."  
  
**±owari±**  


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_A/N2: Thank you for your attention, thanks **Sariyuki** for the encouragement. I'm somewhat not in accord with myself writing Sanzo, so I'd appreciate reviews telling exactly how bad it was._


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